


A Cheater's Prize

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Series: A Comedy of Assholes (Rhapsody, etc.) [30]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Buttsex, M/M, Ridiculous and Married, bad romance novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4381565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Anton likes a good asskicking, before bed.</p><p> <br/><i>"I am not fighting you. You're naked. That... no. No!" Cullen didn't even sit up, just stared confusedly up at Anton. "I will absolutely not fight my naked husband, even if he did just throw me over the bed! There are rules for these sorts of things! I'm sure of it!"</i></p><p>  <i>"Naked bed-wrestling not included in your training? Seems like a pretty big oversight, you know," Anton purred, fingertips clutching the edge of the bed, on either side of his chin. "If you want this to be more fair, you should be naked, too. See, I was going to let you cheat, and everything, because that's how much I love you." He paused. "And you still couldn't beat me."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cheater's Prize

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saiya_tina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saiya_tina/gifts).



> Tina got my 1000th comment, a couple of days ago, so ... MAGIC. She asked me for some bottom!Anton.

"Buttery spend!?" Cullen winged the book across the room, just as Anton opened the door, carrying a tray of tea and cakes. Anton's reflexes served him well, and the book shot past him, clacking loudly against a baluster before thumping to the floor of the hall, below.

Cullen froze, horrified, gazing across the room at his husband, as his cheeks coloured and he sputtered in some half-hearted attempt to explain himself. "I-- well... You're home early?"

"My, my... Lobbing books? What would Bethany think?" Anton's amusement was clear as he closed the door with his foot and swaggered across the room, half a smile lingering on his lips. He set the tray on a bedside table and rested his knee on the edge of the mattress, enjoying the way Cullen flustered under his gaze. "Reading material not up to par, today?"

"It's... I mean... There was... It's Orlesian." Cullen could feel the heat in his chest as the flush on his face continued to spread. "Buttery. It's not _buttery_."

Anton's finger dipped into a dish containing butter, clotted cream, and two types of jam, coming away with a thick glob of butter on the end of his finger. He offered it to Cullen, as he leaned across the bed. "I thought we might have cakes and jam, but perhaps you'd rather compare, just to be sure?"

"I could not possibly be more sure." An entire sentence, with no sputtering, but it was the only one Cullen could manage quite so smoothly. "I know what you taste like -- what that tastes like -- it's not... buttery. It's nothing like butter. It-- it doesn't go on cakes." He blinked and looked up at Anton. "It doesn't go on cakes, does it? Tell me it doesn't go on cakes."

"Not unless you'd like it to. I do have cakes. We could try it," Anton teased. "Rivaini spice cake with pecans? A little bit of quince marmalade? A little bit of very non-buttery gentlemen's cream? Yours or mine, do you think? Probably mine. I taste so much sweeter."

"You do," Cullen agreed, "but, no." He'd learnt what he tasted like from the aftertaste in Anton's mouth -- much more like cheese rind and mushrooms than Anton's... almost cucumber and Orlesian soft cheese flavour. Orlais seemed to be a constant companion in their relationship.

"I still think there's room for comparison. Buttery?" Anton offered his finger again, the butter slowly melting around the tip, and Cullen closed his mouth around it, before any could drip onto the bed.

"You don't taste like butter," Cullen muttered around the finger in his mouth, holding it in his teeth and licking the butter off, between words. "You taste like cucumbers and cheese."

Anton looked contemplative. "That's... Huh. I think you might be right."

"Do I need to prove it to you?" Cullen could feel the tips of his ears turning red.

"Mmm." Anton retrieved his finger and set to work opening his trousers. "I think you might."

"Imagine, something I could yet teach the Champion of Kirkwall!" Cullen teased, grabbing Anton's opened trousers and stepping backward off the bed, to toss Anton on his ass with a quick tug.

"Playing dirty, tonight, Knight-Captain?" Anton's eyes sparkled playfully, as he squirmed out of his trousers and shrugged off his shirt.

"Me? I would never..." Cullen purred, running his hands up Anton's thighs, as he leaned back over the bed. "Where there are rules, I play by them. Even yours."

"Do you? Are you so sure?" Anton tugged at Cullen's shirt. "Remind me what part of the rules involves getting naked in a closet and plundering the finest noble ass in all of Thedas on a pile of Orlesian coats."

"You know, I'm not sure there's a rule that specifically addresses that situation." A splash of red shot across Cullen's cheeks as he considered every other rule and bit of common sense that strongly implied such behaviour was frowned upon. "Besides, how else is a man to meet his one true love, if not by being seduced in a closet? I certainly know no other way."

"So, you admit that was an excellent decision on my part?" Anton asked, swiftly crossing his heels behind Cullen's back.

"It may have been one, yes."

"May have been?" Anton put on his best offended face. "Only may have been?" His legs were swift again, knees slamming into Cullen's armpits before his ankles crossed under Cullen's hips. He grabbed the collar of Cullen's shirt and rolled up onto his shoulders, tossing Cullen to the floor on the other side of the bed, before he rolled over and peered down after him.

"You all right?" Anton asked, after a pause.

" _Maker's balls_ , Anton! What by the demons whose names we do not speak was that!?" Cullen roared, as best he could with only half his breath still in him.

" _May have been_ an excellent decision," Anton huffed. "That's it. Fight me."

Cullen blinked. "That's ridiculous. You're naked."

Anton grinned over the edge of the bed. "And I'm sure you'll find a way to take advantage of that fact, if you win."

"I am not fighting you. You're naked. That... no. No!" Cullen didn't even sit up, just stared confusedly up at Anton. "I will absolutely not fight my naked husband, even if he did just throw me over the bed! There are rules for these sorts of things! I'm sure of it!"

"Naked bed-wrestling not included in your training? Seems like a pretty big oversight, you know," Anton purred, fingertips clutching the edge of the bed, on either side of his chin. "If you want this to be more fair, you should be naked, too. See, I was going to let you cheat, and everything, because that's how much I love you." He paused. "And you still couldn't beat me."

Cullen scowled and poked Anton in the nose. Anton bit his finger.

"Naked," Anton insisted, licking Cullen's fingertip.

"Fine. But I'm locking the door first. The last thing I need is one of your brothers coming in to see what all the noise is about." Heaving a sigh, Cullen sat up and peeled off his shirt, before retrieving his finger, leaving Anton's head stuck in his inside-out sleeve. He made his way across the room and barred the door, as Anton struggled out of the shirt suddenly wrapped around his head.

"The last thing one of my brothers needs is to open that door unexpectedly, and they all know it. Besides, it's not like all three of them haven't seen you naked, before." Anton laughed.

"Maker. I thought that was just a nightmare. Did that actually happen, then?" Cullen groaned and poured himself a glass of wine, from the bottle on the vanity, still not approaching the bed.

"Yes, dear. It's why you're on speaking terms with Anders." Anton rolled over. "Weren't you going to get naked and come justify your opinion that seducing you in a closet might not have been an excellent decision on my part? Perhaps prove to me that there were better ways you might have been had?"

Cullen shoved his trousers down, awkwardly, wine still in one hand as he kicked them off. "I'm getting there."

"Keep on at that rate, and I'll forget you're younger than me," Anton joked, stretching and writhing to better present himself to Cullen's lingering gaze.

One more swallow, and Cullen finished the wine, smacking the glass onto the vanity, before he strolled across the room in nothing but his smalls, watching Anton's body move. His timing was perfect, and he sprung, pinning Anton's wrists above his head, while Anton was still looking the other way. "What was that? Your reflexes are going with age?"

He smirked down at Anton, sure he'd gotten the upper hand, until he spotted the long mirror. Anton had known exactly what was coming, and that meant-- He didn't even have time to consider the full implication, before Anton had flipped him, smacking him in the head with one of the pillows.

"Maybe one of these days you'll best me, but not this one!" Anton crowed, jabbing a thumb under Cullen's arm, right where he knew the man was ticklish.

Cullen squawked and bucked, but recovered quickly, using the twist of his hips to slip out from under Anton, grabbing his wrist and rolling over to pin him to the bed again. "You were saying?"

Anton's hips tipped up, and he ground up against Cullen. "Oooh, Captain, that's a dirty trick. Did you mean to make it dirtier?"

Leaning down, Cullen clicked his teeth just behind Anton's ear. "Shall I show you my sword, knave? Shall I teach you every inch of the blade of it?"

Anton shivered at the breath against his ear, the words from some dreadful Orlesian trash. But, that was the thing, with Cullen. As long as he had those books to lean on, he could be astonishingly filthy. Of course, it took a little while to really get him going, but this was a quick start. "Well, Ser Templar, it's going to be a bit difficult to see your blade, at this angle. Perhaps I'd learn more quickly if you let me roll over."

"Or you could learn the feel of it, as I plunge it into your flesh..." Cullen's other hand was in his own smalls, swiftly working himself into a condition that might be considered a blade rather than a damp noodle, and Anton could feel every motion.

"I'm don't think you could plunge anything into my flesh, with a blade like that!" Anton teased, wriggling enticingly under his husband. His laughter cut short when Cullen's fingers darted into his mouth.

"You could think that, but you'd be wrong."

Anton moaned loudly, almost melodramatically, as he began to suck and lick the fingers in his mouth, teasing the tips with his tongue. His mouth was cunning and attentive, and Cullen had no second thoughts about putting that hand to another use. Anton's mouth would always be his preference, given the choice.

"What was that you were saying about my blade?" Cullen asked, tilting his hips back to rub the base of his knob against Anton's back. He slowly pulled his fingers out of Anton's mouth and reached behind himself, sliding those wet fingers down the crack of Anton's ass. "Tell me, knave," he said, pressing one finger in, as Anton panted and gasped, "how shall I punish this insolence?"

"That--" A warm moan poured out of Anton's mouth. "That's an excellent start. But, maybe you should prove to me the heft of your blade."

"Are you in such a rush to be stabbed, then?" Cullen joked, slipping in another finger and roughly massaging Anton's insides.

"Only with your bold blade, Knight-Captain," Anton purred, squirming to lift his hips. "Come sheathe that fine dagger in my flesh."

"Dagger!?" A hot flush followed the horror across Cullen's face, as he jerked his fingers free and landed a swat across Anton's bottom. "It is a splendid sword I wield, and I've never once heard you complain."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm thinking that's not a full-length blade," Anton teased, smirking up over his shoulder.

Cullen leaned back, one hand still pinning Anton's wrist behind his back, and grabbed for a bottle of oil, popping the cork out as soon at it was in his hand. As expected, Anton took advantage of the shift in weight and tried to roll.

"Open bottle!" Cullen's voice rose as his arm swung forward for balance, holding that open bottle of oil.

Anton considered it for a long moment -- he had a good laundress -- but in the end, he slumped back to the bed, mostly because he wasn't entirely sure where the other bottle was, if he won, but spilled this one all over the bed. "Cheater," he huffed.

Cullen leaned forward, whispering into Anton's ear as he shifted position. "But, I learned from the best."

Anton arched, pressing his hips up. "Say it again."

Slipping the bottle into Anton's free hand, Cullen reached down and untucked himself from his smalls, stroking the tip of his knob over Anton's hole, before he pressed in. "I learned from the best," he purred, and Anton stretched and moaned, beneath him.

"Flatterer," Anton murmured, wringing Cullen's knob inside him.

"Do I need to flatter you, when the truth is so inspiring?" Cullen asked, grinding in deeply. "Do you feel the heft of my blade, knave? Does that feel like a dagger to you?"

"Mmm, I'm not sure. Maybe you should draw it and sheathe it a few more times, so I can get a better feel for it." Anton's hips rocked between his husband and the bed. "Maybe you should do it a little quicker, so I can get a feel for the force of your thrust."

Cullen picked up the pace, one hand holding him up against the bed, while the other still held Anton's arm behind his back. Anton panted and writhed under him, every few breaths producing a desperate whine and a particular tip of the hips.

"Maker, Anton, what's gotten into you tonight?" Not that Cullen ever complained about an opportunity to enjoy Anton's incredible body, but it was almost too easy, tonight.

"Just you, Cullen. Just you." Anton's eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming quicker. "You won me. You didn't just win me, you cheated, and you cheated perfectly. No hesitation. Have I ever told you how hot it makes me to watch you cheat well?"

"I cheated perfectly, and you are my prize." Cullen nipped at Anton's shoulder, the sleek line of his neck. "I can see the joy you take in it, if it ends like this."

The next sound out of Anton was needy, somewhere between a moan and a whine. "Oh, Cullen, I love you. You're perfect. There will never be a day in my life I regret marrying you. But, Maker's balls, man, just fuck me already!"

"And I thought that's what I was doing! Very well, if you insist..." Cullen eased himself down to lie nearly flat on Anton's back, pulling his knees up a bit, for leverage, before slipping his hand into the small space where Anton had canted his hips up, to wrap a hand around Anton's knob. "Do you need me to roughly rearrange your goods, knave?" he purred, slamming his hips down and forcing Anton's knob through his firm fist. "Shall I plunder your booty?"

Any quips Anton might have had were lost, transformed into a succession of breathy affirmations and pleas for more. Cullen never ceased to be amazed at the way this handsome, strong, talented man, who'd had so many lovers before him, came apart so easily and enticingly at his touch. He rode Anton hard against his hand, listening to every obscene sound that spilled from his mouth. None of it was loud. The sounds never even reached a conversational volume, but they were clear and unbroken. Anton rarely held back, when they weren't trying to make the best of a closet.

And then the tenor of the sounds shifted drastically, strained pants, instead of breathless groans, and Cullen caught the head of Anton's knob in his fist, working the foreskin back up over it and thumbing the tip. Anton's entire body tensed, and a ragged 'yes' tore out of him, with all the breath he didn't have, as he spilled into his husband's hand.

For a few moments, Anton's body twisted and writhed, while he remained too dazed to consider it, until finally, he lay still and panting. "Sorry. I just... Wow. Shit. Next day you have off, you should get armoured up, and we should go at it, in the garden. Winner takes all."

"You want me to beat you with my actual sword, before I plunge my metaphorical sword into your ever-inviting flesh?" Cullen teased, hips still in motion, if more slowly.

"Yeah, I do." Anton smiled up over his shoulder. "But, right now? I want you to get the oil off the bed, let go of my arm, and finish ravishing me, you divine beast."

Cullen sprung up, releasing Anton's arm. "Blight. Did I hurt you?"

Anton stretched, testing the arm that had been pinned against his back for most of this. "No harm done. I kind of like being manhandled like that, actually, but only if you actually win it from me."

Plucking the bottle from Anton's hand, Cullen leaned back to put it on the flat surface it had come from. "And this is why you want me to spar with you in the garden, is it?"

"Oh, yes," Anton purred, stretching and writhing enticingly. "But, you're not done yet."

"Are you asking for more of my sword, knave?" Cullen ground in hard.

"Oh, Ser Templar! Let me stroke your blade until it shines!" Anton gasped, dramatically, wriggling his hips.

They didn't get out of bed again until long after supper, subsisting on cakes and jam and kisses, until nearly morning.


End file.
